In the Era of Innovation
by Emery Wright
Summary: A year post-DH EWE: the Wizarding world is rebuilding and thriving upon the ideas of the survivors, and an unlikely alliance upsets the new status-quo. "It's my turn to play the damsel in distress," he said, taking her hand. "Ready to give them a show?"
1. Into the Day

**In the Era of Innovation**

A year post-DH, EWE, and the Wizarding world is rebuilding and thriving upon the ideas of the survivors and war heroes. But some still look backwards, seeking revenge, even as an unlikely alliance upsets the new status-quo.

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**Chapter One**

**Into the Day**

She was late. Hermione Granger, Prefect and model student, Head Girl, 12 NEWTS, recipient of an Order of Merlin, First Class, who had never been late to anything in her entire life, was late to her first day of work.

She had woken up at the early hour of 5, when the sky was still that deep blue hue, and had given herself plenty of time to prepare. Of course, no one had mentioned to her that the bathroom that the floo was connected to in the employee entrance of the Ministry had busted a pipe and that water sprayed liberally over anyone who flooed in that way. She had emerged from the stall, her new blue robes dripping, her hair already fanning out as the water seeped in-between the strands. She could already imagine the bushy mess it was going to be. After she had spent an hour trying to make it presentable.

She managed to dry herself off completely as she was walking toward the elevators. Of course, the commotion in the employee's entrance had caused a queue to form for the elevators as nearly everyone was running late. In the queue, a rather large woman stepped backwards and right onto Hermione's feet.

She shrieked. The sharp heels of the other woman (who was far too large to wear heels in Hermione's opinion) had scratched up the leather of Hermione's (very sensible) heels and none of the spells she tried could repair them.

In the elevator, squished up against as many people as they could fit in the small space, she realized that she would need some sort of freshening up charm, she smelled like toilet water. She couldn't very well cast it currently as her arms were pinned to her sides. And she wouldn't have time to sneak into a restroom before meeting her boss. She was quite late, and quite miserable. She had wanted to look good, professional at the very least, for her first day, and here the fates seemed to be working against her in a way that she could not control. And she definitely preferred to be in control.

When she finally emerged onto the correct floor, she realized that she wasn't sure who or where she was supposed to be met. Not that she had forgotten, she had simply never been informed. The whole floor was the department, but there seemed to be no one in sight.

She figured she was already late, so she might as well look around. She followed a corridor, but every room she looked into was empty.

She finally found someone in the brain room. She shivered.

He turned around, a stack of files in his hands, and peered at her through his glasses.

"You're Hermione Granger, aren't you?" he asked, adjusting his glasses while trying to scratch his head. The files in his hand crashed to the floor.

"Yes, I am." As she bent to help pick them up she noticed the parchments had pictures of brains on them and some of them were on muggle paper with medical brain scans.

"I'm Luke Golding. Nice to meet you." She noticed that his gaze was caught on the volume of her hair. "Have you found what you'd like to do work on yet?"

"What am I supposed to do, is there no one in charge? What times do we work? Who should I report to?" She vaguely remembered being interviewed by a witch in grey robes with white hair, but really she had been so busy then leaving Hogwarts and moving into Grimmauld Place with the boys and interviewing for anything and everything she could. And so the questions spilled out of her mouth like she was a first-year again.

"Oh, we're not like the other departments. Of course we have senior members, but we are all each other's peers and mentors. You do know, if you'd like to stay on, you'll have to make some sort of breakthrough, though that shouldn't be a problem for you." He peered at her through the glasses, his droopy blue eyes at odds with his tense smile.

The tone of this last phrase made her suddenly aware once more that not everyone was her friend, or wanted to be.

"I suppose I'll be seeing you around," she said. She squared her already tensed shoulders and continued out a new door.

Two rooms later (she argued with herself if she would ever be able to figure out the floorplan of this place) she found what she imagined might be a room situated just for her. What attracted her was the great long chalkboard that took up one entire side of the room (several classrooms long at least) and stretched up to disappear to an indistinguishable ceiling. On this chalkboard (or chalkwall) was the longest and most complicated arithmathical equation Hermione had ever seen in her life. It looked to be the work of several lifetimes, and just as she thought she might try to figure a part out it seemed to shift and move and she was looking at quite another section.

On the other side she saw several large (but normal-sized) chalkboards. She felt a leaden weight in her stomach. She could possibly, she thought, list again all the things she wanted to develop and change, or she could go with her gut instinct (or gut pain) and possibly cure the source of the nightmares and relapses that plagued her and others who had suffered the effects of the Cruciatus curse.

She picked up the piece of chalk, and was transported to her primary school in the way the odd substance rubbed across her skin. She remembered that one boy, one of many who had teased her and the shock on his face as an eraser hit him square in the face, the chalk dust creating a halo around him. Even as the other kids laughed, the boy who had been dusted now crying as particles rubbed in his eyes, others had looked at her with a mean stare. She had felt very alone, then.

And now, she felt alone without Harry or Ron right next to her, but she supposed that they couldn't have very well continued to be joined at the hip. So despite the frizz that she struggled to get out of her face, despite the lingering smell of bathroom seeped into her robes, and despite the fear of failure that lingered in her stomach just as often as the aftereffects of the curse, she put chalk to board and began to write.

***

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***

He supposed that today was as good as any to change his life around. The summer sun was filtering into his study, his old Hogwarts stuff was unpacked, stored away or displayed in his sitting room, his friends (associates, really) were all on vacation or beginning their own duties, the Manor was experiencing an earthquake--

He snapped up out of his chair, afraid at first that he had simply dosed off. But no, there was a rumbling noise again from a couple of stories below. He set off quickly, his wand clenched in his palm, teeth gritted against the loud noises.

In the main parlor, or what had once been the main parlor, several house elves were attempting to move a grand piano through the floo. It sat halfway through the fireplace, several elves pushing against it to no avail. Of course it was the piano that had been cursed by some ancient relative to play non-stop should anyone try to remove it from the Manor.

"Mother! What in Merlin's beard is going on here!"

"Language, dear Draco, please. I am attempting to sort this out." The noise didn't faze her cool demeanor in the slightest. She had with her another house elf who was holding fabric swatches up against the wall, her other arm covering an ear against the noise.

"Are you trying to redecorate again?" He growled.

"I'm afraid I can't hear you over this racket," his Mother waved a hand at him in dismissal.

He couldn't exactly leave and expect her to follow him so he offered his arm to her before she could turn away. She stood still (he knew she was contemplating feigning having not seen it) then slipped her arm into his as if there wasn't a horrid crescendo of crashing piano keys just behind them.

He marched quickly into the drawing room a few doors over. The noise was less deafening here but no less distracting. This room was now done in a shades of grey and an icy blue, perhaps in an attempt to restore some tranquility in the house. At least it complimented his complexion; he allowed himself the luxury of thinking, before he turned to his Mother.

"Really Mother, I thought you had redecorated the whole Manor this past year. Is it really so necessary to do it again?"

His mother did not move. In fact, he had often dreamed as a child that she was a statue and that his father had lifted a curse upon her to bring her back to life. It not only explained why his mother was tied to the man, but also allowed him the luxury of imagining that he was not related to Bellatrix.

"That piano is an abomination. I will not keep objects in this house that possess that _taint_," she hissed the last word.

There it was. The thing he (and they) could never get away from. He tried to imagine that cloaked snake monster thing sitting on that piano. Or perhaps a spot of blood had gotten on it, and the side-effect of some curse or another had made it irremovable. No matter how many times his mother completely refurnished and redecorated those rooms, _his_ aura seemed to taint it.

"Perhaps you should hire some wizard or curse breaker to get it out of here. I almost-" he was going to say 'feel sorry for the house elves', but it seemed inappropriate.

His mother, with her perfectly straight posture and impassive face, raised an eyebrow. "That is a good idea, Draco dear. I trust we can _afford_ such a luxury?"

He nodded grimly. He realized of course that his mother wanted to make him feel guilty for those letters he had sent over the last year while he was at school. It worked. He had been trying to finish his seventh year, get over the nightmares and fears that accompanied almost dying in service to that dark purpose, and sort out the Malfoy financials and investments all at the same time. The exuberant amount of money his mother spent had been to him a great headache, especially as he continued to pay reparations for the war. He had sent a few mean letters in a fit of stress and rage, and now he would pay the price.

"Of course, Mother, you do whatever you can to make that room tolerable," he acquiesced.

"I'll see you for dinner." She strode out of the room. Despite her coolness, he could tell that the last year (or years for that matter) had not been kind to her. It was another reason for him to stop being lazy and really try to make something of himself in this world.

He made his way back to his study. His Mother had already renovated it, really he suspected as soon as his father's trial was over she had planned this room to be his to use. There had been no question of him taking his father's study. That room was locked up tightly and there had been no need to breech it. All of the legal documents he needed had become available to him as soon as he placed the family ring on his finger.

He opened the ledgers once more. And scowled at the estimation of the cost of a new grand piano. Really, the things he did to keep his mother happy. Perhaps he could cut out the imported dragon meat from their diet...

Then he noticed the letter. A house elf must have retrieved it from an owl while he had been downstairs.

The creamy parchment bore the seal of the Ministry. Draco forced himself to breathe evenly. He opened the letter. At first he panicked, looking at the number on the letter and trying to compare with the numbers on his ledgers and coming up with a very bad number. Then he forced himself to read the letter thoroughly.

_Lord Draco Malfoy,_

_The Ministry is funding an orphanage and reintegration program for those who have lost everything in the past few years. We are demanding a sum of the following number of galleons to be paid monthly. In compensation, the term on the sentence of Lucius Malfoy will be halved to 15 years, provided he remains on good behavior. We look forward to your support for the rebuilding of our society._

_Percy Weasley_

_Secretary to the Minister_

Draco laughed. And then stopped just as suddenly. He wasn't sure if he had laughed at all in the last three years. Perhaps, no, he had not. But this was too rich. Not only did the Ministry think they could squeeze more money out of him (just how rich did they think he was?), they thought he would want to get his father out of that prison.

No, even though it was a lot of work being the Lord, he preferred it over having to live under his father's rule, he already had to deal with the consequences of his father's decisions, let the dark follower rot in that cell for a few decades.

Though the letter "demanded" that he pay the sum, Draco was sure there was no way they could extort the money (after all, they had offered an incentive), but just to be sure he penned a quick letter to his financial adviser.

Even if he didn't have to pay the fine, he would still have to be careful with the galleons in the coffers until his first investment went through. He had also recently backed out of an old investment and the money (well what he could get after they had spent most of it) should be coming back soon.

The company name: Muggle Sight-Seeing Adventures, looked good on paper, especially since everyone seemed to be obsessed with muggle culture now. It would look good, he thought, to be seen supporting it. But he hadn't gotten a chance to physically check it out until after he had graduated. Just last week he managed to visit the place and found it had been a front for muggle-baiting.

The invisible bus drove around the streets of London and you could terrorize muggles from the safety of the vehicle. He had immediately dropped out of the financial backing, and had debated sending the ministry after them. He did not want his name (even if it had been his father's doing) associated with it, however, and it was debatable how much money he was going to be able to get back. It was much better to hold the threat of calling in the ministry and getting some money back than to actually call them in and receive nothing but bad publicity.

Draco stretched his arms and looked out his window over the vast fields. It certainly was a nice day to ride a broom. Sometimes being older sucked. He turned back to his desk and contemplated trying to work the new muggle-inspired invention, if only to drown out the sounds of that horrid piano.

***

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**A/N**: A new story. I just started a new job, which is why Perceiving Pigment is on hiatus. Plus, I didn't get very many reviews so it was just a little disheartening and difficult to convince myself to spend the time on it. This story will be a fair bit lighter and is much easier to write. It just seems to be spilling onto the pages at the moment. As usual, reviews are the sustenance that convinces us writers to update more quickly, and I wouldn't mind a few suggestions for more 'innovations' as well.

HG/DM, LL/GrW, HP/GiW will be our pairings, though HG/DM is the main focus of course, with perhaps a bit of competition from our favorite Blaise Zabini. And we can't forget Ron, silly as he may be. One thing I must make clear, Hermione will not be a simpering mess, and she will always try to solve her own problems and fight her own battles and if I start veering away from her character please do let me know.

The Malfoys really aren't that bad off; it just takes quite a bit of galleons to maintain the lifestyle they are accustomed to.

Next: a very eventful dinner at the Burrow.


	2. Into the Night

**In the Era of Innovation

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**Chapter Two  
**

**Into the Night**

Throughout the week, Hermione would turn away from her work, finally coerced by the insistent growling of her stomach to seek sustenance, and sometimes there would be sitting on the table a brown bag filled with a few wrapped sandwiches. On this occasion, she was not entirely certain what day, biting into a pickle sandwich; she thought that it was a definite plus to working here.

If she ever felt stuck in a portion of her equation she wandered over to the giant equation on the opposite wall and spent some time (she never kept track and indeed never bothered to buy a watch, preferring to simply go home when she could no longer keep her eyes open, much to Harry and Ron's displeasure) just taking it in. She usually had to start with a smaller piece first, and it was only the sheer magnitude of the whole that kept her from embracing her usual tactic of figuring out what every single little piece meant in an attempt to find the answer. It forced her to not mindlessly seek the answer, but to look for patterns and shapes that she often missed even in smaller equations. And right now, she was frustrated and making no more progress in her work.

As she was turning back to get another go at the equation, a blonde headed girl blocked her path.

"Hello," the girl said serenely. Her hair had volume much like Hermione's (though less frizzy and curly) and it was liberally embedded with leaves.

"Oh, Luna. I had nearly forgotten that you got a spot here too." Despite having worked in the same Department for a week now, she hadn't seen the other girl at all.

"Yes, I suppose you've been quite busy. I think Harry is a bit worried. He sent me to remind you to go the Burrow for dinner tonight." The girl looked at some imaginary objects floating above their heads. "It must be sunset already."

"It is Sunday, then. I suppose he forgot to invite you along?" Sometimes her boys forgot the most simple of courtesies, though it was more often that Ron wouldn't think of such a thing rather than Harry.

"Oh, he said I have a standing invitation."

"Good. We best be going then," she said.

"You might want to cover up or protect your work, Hermione, lest the Berin brownies find a way to switch a few things around or completely erase it." Luna was like that, she would seem all normal for nearly an entire conversation, and then sprout some silly nonsense about brownies…

Although the reasoning behind the idea was silly, the idea itself was quite sound. She briefly recalled the creepy smile of Luke Golding as she put several protection spells and a disillusionment charm upon her work.

As they were getting out of the Elevator on the Entrance level she thought she heard someone call her name. But when she looked around, she didn't see anyone, and she determined that she really ought to eat and sleep regularly.

***

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***

Sunday dinners at the Burrow were a family (and extended family) affair. You never knew who might show up, Bill and Fleur often flooed in from Shell Cottage, George and Percy often apparated from their flat above Diagon Alley, even Charlie managed to make it once every month or two. Guests sometimes included Andromeda and baby (who was nearly toddler) Teddy, Kingsley (though he was quite busy and often only managed to cram down a bit of Molly's cooking before being called away), Neville and any other significant other or friend any one of them might be with. So it was no surprise to Molly to welcome Luna along with Hermione into her home and kitchen.

She ushered them out of the kitchen, declining their offers to help cook, and sent them into the living room.

Harry was pacing along one side. He began to pat at his robe until he decided to run his hand through his hair instead when he saw her.

"Heya, 'Mione, Luna. I'm glad I didn't have to send a whole team of Aurors to get you out of the Ministry." Harry was in Auror training, and the way George joked about it, he was the leader of the recruits. Ron jumped up as well, with a huge grin that he couldn't seem to contain.

"Oh, you know me, once I'm onto something I forget about reality." Harry came over and gave her a hug, which Hermione returned briefly and stepped away quickly, slightly afraid that he was going to puke on her robes.

"Maybe you should go freshen up, Harry, you look a little green," she said softly. As Harry shuffled out, Ron came over to hug her as well.

"What's going on?" she whispered to Ron.

"Just wait," he said, squeezing her a little too tightly. "It's gonna be great."

Before she could inquire further, the floo lit up and George and Percy tumbled out.

"I told you we should've apparated," George grumbled, being none too careful about stomping on his brother's feet.

"Ow! Well you neglected to state that the reason you didn't want to floo was because you hadn't cleaned out the soot like I asked you to last week," Percy replied, dusting himself off.

"My brother, I thought you knew me by now. Why clean when you can illusion the dust and soot away?"

"Because it doesn't go away!"

There was a round of hugs and greetings, then another as Mr. Weasley got home, and some more as Andromeda and Teddy arrived, and then Neville, and even some of Ginny's friends from her year in Gryffindor. It seemed everyone had decided to show up tonight.

They were all squeezed in on the couches or perched on the windowsill, or leaning against the wall, or even on the floor, and George was showing off his new invention by walking on the walls and across the ceiling in his new boots (which looked suspiciously large and none-too-comfortable).

Someone was asking Luna about her job and she heard her say: "It's wonderful; it's like looking up at the night sky."

Even Dean Thomas was there, showing off his new invention. It was like a muggle boom box and played muggle music ( in addition to magical music through the wireless of course) that was powered by magic rather than electricity.

"At first it was just a project for me, I really wanted to listen to music in my flat in the Alley. But then, other people wanted one of their own so I finally found Malfoy to finance a small factory to make a whole bunch of them," she heard him telling Mr. Weasley.

"It's a sound business venture," Mr. Weasley joked.

Malfoy, of all people, supporting muggle music! The thought was absurd, but she couldn't help but feel a little glee at the thought of him having to admit that muggles had created a few things that the Wizarding world should embrace and adapt.

Molly emerged from the kitchen as if to say dinner was ready. There was a tension in the room as everyone quieted down and got ready for the call, preparing their bodies like runners before the start of a race.

"Before we begin dinner, I believe Harry has an announcement." Everyone turned to Harry, some, including George, with a bit of malice toward him for having delayed the consumption of food.

"Yes, well, er." Harry began, looking greener than ever. He cleared his throat. "I just want to tell you, Ginny," and here he tripped over Luna's legs as he attempted to get closer to his girlfriend. "I just want to tell you how much I love you, and if, maybe, I mean, only if you'd like to-"

George fell off of the ceiling right on top of Ron with a large _thump_, and even the discomfort he must have been in failed to close his mouth as he stared at Harry with a huge gape. Ron looked equally stunned, which was curious, she could've sworn he'd known what was going on earlier.

Harry seemed to finally decide in that moment, he got down on his knee and pulled out a tiny box from inside his robes, "You know, would you like to marry me?"

Hermione was at first a bit hurt as Harry hadn't chosen to confide in her. But then, she hadn't been around that much lately and Harry had tried to get her to go to dinner with him several times this past week. All of her guilt was swept away however when she saw the pure joy that spread across Ginny's face along with her smile.

"Oh yes!" Ginny cried, a little too high pitched. But it didn't fail to cause Harry to grin and let out the breath he had been holding. Soon the room was filled with cheers and more hugging and a few people took the opportunity to get a head start on filling their plates with food before the rush.

Overall, she was glad she hadn't missed the dinner. After she had eaten her fill she noticed that Ron had disappeared. She would have figured he had known about Harry's intentions tonight, but for the stunned and almost sad look on his face earlier.

She found him in his old room up near the attic. She knocked on the open door. He looked up from his spot on the bed.

"What's up Ron? You seemed very happy not too long ago. You know nothing's going to change, Harry will just be your brother in name now as well as feeling." But she could tell her words were not having an effect.

"That's not it at all, 'Mione. I'm happy for him, he deserves it and I know he'll take care of Ginny, he already promised not to break her heart again."

"Then what is it?"

"I kind of had news of my own tonight is all. And I don't want to seem like I'm trying to steal their night, you know?"

"And sulking up here is better than celebrating with your best friend and sister?" Honestly, sometimes Ron didn't think about how his actions affected other people.

Ron finally looked up at her, his eyes glowing with pride.

"I made the team, Hermione! I'm going to play keeper with the Cannons. First-string and everything. I'm leaving in three days." The joy on his face was so great that she couldn't help but smile for her best friend. But she still had to play the adult here, it seemed.

"Did you tell Harry earlier?" she asked, taking a seat next to the redhead.

"No."

"Then there's no way he could've known, Ron. He can't read your mind and he's not a girl so he can't read your moods. I think if you go down there and tell everyone, it won't be stealing their night at all, it's just another reason to celebrate and another excuse for George to challenge someone to a Firewhiskey drinking contest."

"Yeah I know. Ok, I think I'll do that."

She let out a breath. It was nice to know he valued her opinion enough to take her advice on this.

"Thanks, you're the best." He drew an arm around her, and something about the way he lightly rubbed his thumb against her arm put Hermione on edge.

Her hunch was correct; he went in for a kiss. While they had quite a few intense snogging sessions over this past year, Ron had never really told her how he felt, and she'd been disappointed by him for more years than she probably should've wasted on him. While she wasn't always adverse to his physical advances, it usually made things even more confusing. Before she could really react, he pulled away from the kiss and looked her in the eyes.

"But there's another thing I want to ask you," he said, his Adam's apple bobbing as he swallowed. "I'd like to know if you want to come with me."

Hermione bolted up out of his embrace. Ron rose awkwardly as well. She searched his face and slowly realized that he was serious.

"Hermione?" he asked, reaching for her.

"I just got a job here, Ron, I can't up and leave."

"But, you're doing research right? Maybe there's something you can develop while travelling. You could visit libraries all around the world. And I could support you while you do whatever you want."

"It's not the same. I've got great resources here, and you know I'd never feel right if you were supporting me. I'm not that girl, Ron, I need my independence."

"I know you're independent, you're an incredible woman. And I know you'll do great things whatever you do; I just thought you might like to take a break for a bit, you know, after the war."

Oh, goodness. So she could follow him around like a puppy dog and she could pregnant and then at some point he wouldn't be able to play the sport anymore and she'd had no career and…the future looked very bleak down that road.

"I can't go with you. But if your dream is to be a Quidditch player then you've got to take this opportunity. And I wish you the best of luck."

"Are we breaking up over this?" Ron frowned.

"When exactly have we been together?" She put her hands on her hips.

"You're my girl," he said, a bit feebly. "Everyone knows that. You're more of a daughter to Mum than Fleur is. And I love you, you know that." He leaned over to pull her hair away from her face.

The first time he tells her that he loves her, and he's leaving to join some half-rated sports team, Hermione thought in desperation.

"You chose now of all times to finally voice your feelings?" she asked, suddenly feeling very small.

"Yes, Hermione, I love you and I don't think anything can keep us apart, not after everything we've gone through," he said, suddenly very serious and Hermione half-wished she had seen this side of him (a side she had longed to see for the past several years) before tonight. He leaned in, brushing his lips against hers; and when she didn't back away, his tongue darted into her mouth and she was half-tempted to go with it, to enjoy the moment.

Except, it wasn't what she had imagined.

"I never thought I had to say it, but I'll say it forever now. I love you. You'll wait for me then, won't you? I mean, I won't be that far away, only certain parts of the year. We can make this work."

"No," she said, shaking her head. "I've waited quite long enough for you. I'm not waiting for you while you chase some silly dream. I'm sorry, Ron, I don't think I can do that."

She thought then a bit belatedly that she may've gone too far, especially as he tore out of the room, his heavy stomps echoing through the house. Well, it had to be a clean break, better for him to hate her than to have him believe that he still had a chance.

Except that she still wasn't sure it had been the right thing to do at all. But it was the decision she had come to and she wasn't about to make things any more grey or confusing.

About half an hour later she was still sitting there when a quiet pair of footsteps came up behind her.

"I was just thinking about my research," she said, wiping away her tears. Luna sat down beside her on the bed, pulling up her willowy legs to rest her chin on her knees. Hermione knew she hadn't fooled the girl but she kept talking anyway.

"I still can't believe no one has tried to alter a curative potion for it in the last twenty years."

"Maybe someone did," Luna said, looking out the window.

"Why wouldn't they share it? Or at least sell it?" Hermione asked, more to herself.

"Perhaps they couldn't because of the war," Luna mused. "If you were on a side where that curse was one of your more powerful weapons, you wouldn't want to patent the potion and help the other side, would you?"

"Who would've had great enough reason and great enough skills to create such a potion? Someone who had to undergo the curse frequently, someone who was actually on our side and would've wanted to help our side secretly. And the greatest potions master in the last twenty years wouldn't have been able to make such a breakthrough public, even though he may have created it for his own and maybe even the Order's needs." Hermione gasped. If only she could get the late Professor's journals or notes!

But, the only person she thought might have been related to the Severus Snape was his godson, Draco Malfoy. Which meant her best chance at getting a look at those notes was by asking for a favor from the boy who had watched as she had been tortured with the very curse she was trying to cure.

With her new goal in mind, Hermione and Luna headed downstairs, running into Harry and Ginny, who were all over each other. The amorous couple tumbled into Ginny's room with not a glance about their surroundings.

"I don't want to know what they're up to."

"They're probably shagging," Luna said, matter-of-fact. Hermione missed a step and nearly tumbled down the rest of the stairs.

"I said I _didn't_ want to know," she hissed. She suddenly felt the past week catch up with her and all she wanted to do was go home, take a bath and go to sleep. And maybe nix the bath part.

When they made it downstairs she had to convince Luna not to accept George's drinking challenge (she did not want to have to look out for Luna and clean up any messes), but Luna seemed to be able to handle herself quite well, so Hermione said her goodbyes.

Of course, when she made it back to Grimmauld Place (thankfully empty) a large dark owl was waiting none too patiently, and scratching up their couch.

_Hermione,_

_I tried to catch you today at the Ministry, but you are always quite elusive. If you will forgive me for resorting to owl correspondence to gain your attentions I hope you will join me this Friday evening for dinner. Let me treat you to Mariella's in honor of your new job._

_Awaiting your reply,_

_Blaise Zabini_

While they had been cordial to each other at school, and sometimes studied together for Ancient Runes and Arithmancy, she wouldn't have exactly called them friends.

Hermione would have given herself the night to sleep on it and decide, but the dratted owl was still perched on the sofa, and her head hurt and she really wanted to sleep so she penned a quick reply telling him to pick her up at eight, debated trying to send an owl to Malfoy and decided to wait until morning, and finally made it to her bed. She was asleep before the owl made it across the block.

***

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A/N: Bye-bye Ron! *evil cackle*

This chapter turned out longer than I intended, I had a lot to include, and a lot of stuff that will be important later of course.

Please review, I would really like to know what you think, no matter how short or constructive, every bit helps. And please check out riptey's story Sucker Punch, it's amazing and finally updated and riptey is one of my inspirations/influences.

Next: some Hr/D interaction I know you've all been waiting for.


	3. A Sound Venture

**In the Era of Innovation

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**Chapter 3  
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**A Sound Venture**

On Monday morning, Draco was in his study, writing an angry (though outwardly polite) letter to the Muggle-baiting business owner, and studiously avoiding answering an invitation from Pansy, when he received a letter from an oddly familiar owl. All of the ministry owls had that same hue of brown feathers and that same hardened look in their eyes; it must have come from always being the bearer of bad news. He tossed a treat its way, unwilling to get his fingers anywhere near that sharp beak, and while it was distracted, he took the letter from its feet.

The letter itself was from one Hermione Granger, war hero and model muggleborn witch, requesting a lunch meeting with him today to discuss, of all things, a business proposal.

He had no good reason to refuse the invitation, and the truth was he was very curious as to why the witch, who had everything in this new world, would need something from him. It was also a blessing, he could afford to be a bit more like himself without worrying about not sealing the business deal, a situation that would have been much worse for him had he been seeking something from her. But not too abrasive, he thought back to their third year when she had slapped him, there was no need to get on the bad side of that witch.

He inwardly groaned, he was going to have to be polite. He wrote his reply quickly and sent if off before he could change his mind.

He tried to recall what she did now, then he remembered the recent article in the Prophet, she was working to obtain a permanent post in the Department of Mysteries. While no one knew exactly what went on down there, it was generally acknowledged that initiates into the department spent as long as five years simply researching.

He had scant time before lunch to research.

***

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***

He arrived not long before she entered. He had wondered if she would be changed. Though they had seen each other weeks ago their last day at Hogwarts, it was no surprise to him that she looked much more a woman without the school uniform and a pile of books. She was not, however, a woman he would normally be seen associating with.

With her disheveled hair and obvious unkemptness she looked somewhat feral, a lioness who wouldn't hesitate to eat another's babies for sustenance. His mouth twitched. As she got closer, he rose (she was still a lady, however untrained in the rules of etiquette) and offered the seat across from him.

Unexpectedly, she leaned in to shake his hand. He took it lightly, training telling him to kiss it, even as his brain warned him against such a foolhardy move. Thankfully his brain was in control. He noticed her swollen lower lip and considered the fact that she probably bit on it as she concentrated at her work, just as she had bit on it when studying arithmancy in the library at Hogwarts.

"Mr. Malfoy, I am thankful you agreed to meet with me," she said. Everyone always forgot the Lord part. He nodded.

"I can't say I wasn't surprised, Miss Granger." Kudos to him for remembering the 'Miss'.

"How have you been, anyway?" The continued use of pleasantries was fairly irritating, but nothing he couldn't handle.

"Well, now that everyone doesn't feel the need to stare at me like they did at Hogwarts my life has drastically improved." That may have something to do with hiding out in the Manor all the time, but he wasn't about to mention it.

"Good," she said.

The waiter came by and he ordered some sandwich while she asked for fish and chips.

Up close, he could see that she really hadn't been taking care of herself. He knew that Granger cleaned up well (evidence of the Yule Ball), but she clearly hadn't been trying at all lately. Must be why she and the Weasel aren't engaged yet, he mused.

He waited for her to begin. She looked at him with those large eyes.

"Are you going to get down to business sometime soon or did you ask me here to admire my good looks?" he drawled. She straitened up, obviously unsure how to proceed. He had managed to fluster her; good, if she was going to be getting into any kind of business, she really needed to learn not to let the other person get the upper hand so easily. Honestly, just because you've won a war didn't mean other people weren't going to try to take advantage of you.

"You were Severus Snape's heir, yes?"

He froze. No one talked about Severus Snape anymore. For a time, Potter had tried to clear his name, to proclaim him as a hero, but hardly anyone had cared, preferring to forget and move on. He cleared his throat, and suddenly knew he'd lost the upper hand as quickly as he had gained it.

"I was the only family he had left," he affirmed. That information had not been common knowledge, however. He wondered how much his godfather had revealed to Boy Wonder. Too much, obviously.

Hermione leaned forward, the curiosity apparent in her eyes. Her intensity lured him forward as well.

"Did he leave you his potions notes or journals, anything that he might have developed that he would've been unable to patent?" she nearly whispered.

And there was the reason. She had a suspicion that the late Potions Master had been working on something, specifically something that would help in her own research.

"You're looking for a specific potion, yes?" He raised an eyebrow and she nodded. He leaned back in his seat as their food arrived. After several minutes of eating, in which Granger shot curious glances at him, he finally put his napkin upon the table.

"Even if I was able to breech the wards and protections on his notes – what incentive would I have to give his life's work to you? Anything you develop while employed in the Department of Mysteries is property of the Ministry, and I cannot see them giving proper due to a former Death Eater." He had only scant time to research anything about the regulations of the department, but he felt proud of having found this tidbit.

"I've done my research, Malfoy," she said with that matter-of-fact tone he'd rather hoped she had grown out of. "If enough of the research was contributed by an outside party who has never been employed by the Ministry, proper accreditation and royalties must be paid to said party-- or the heir if decreased within the last fifty years. As long as we have his original notes and I document how it greatly impacted my research (which it most likely will) _you _will receive the royalties."

If only everyone researched as thoroughly as Granger, he thought. Then wondered if that might be construed as a compliment and was glad he hadn't voiced it.

"Promising," he said, as nonchalantly as possible, and he did not miss the look of surprise in her eyes. "Now there is only the question of getting you the information you seek without compromising the rest of his work."

He saw her straighten up and draw in a deep breath, preparing herself to argue, but he held up his hand. "I know you would never compromise your morals in such a way, but this is my godfather's work and I must be prepared for any eventuality."

She deflated somewhat.

"You don't trust me, then," she said.

"I'd be surprised if you trusted me," he retorted. Their eyes met and he wondered if she was thinking about that night, the night he had watched her get tortured by his crazy aunt. Not just crazy, but deeply insane and dark with a laugh that only grew as the screams grew—thankfully Granger interrupted the unwanted memory.

"Then we form a contract, or vow, whichever you prefer. I take only the information related to my current project. I'll even assist you in obtaining any patents for any completely developed potions he may have written down."

That was good. Even if he himself had managed to sort through the work and find finished potions, he would have to go through a load of paperwork and levels of Ministry officials and the names Snape or Malfoy would not help him in the least. If it was Granger submitting said work, however, the paperwork would fly past the usual barriers and he would save a lot of time and money.

"So you're not going to divulge what you are working on," he remarked. She swallowed her mouthful of food (he suspected it was only half-chewed).

"I do work in the Department of _Mysteries_, if you recall," she said, tilting her head slightly.

He almost smiled, and to cover it up he said: "When do you want to begin?"

"As soon as possible. I am at an impasse in my work; this is my only lead at the moment."

"Then, if you're quite done gorging on lunch, we could go take a look right now." He tossed down some galleons for the meal.

"I hadn't eaten since last night," she said indignantly.

"I did not mean to imply that you ate too much –merely that it was an unexpected amount for a woman so petite."

He thought he had saved himself quite well, but she did not relax from her defensive stance.

Just then, they were interrupted by a bright flash of light and he inwardly cursed. A reporter tried to get their attention, calling out some question. They rose, but Granger seemed stunned still, so he went ahead and took her arm and dragged her out of the restaurant.

"You'll have to Side-Along with me," he said quickly, into her hair. She nodded and stepped further into his embrace.

One really didn't have to be this close for side-along, but it was certainly more interesting. And distracting, why did her hair have to smell like apples and rain? She didn't have that ghastly flower smell that most girls seemed to emit. Then he remembered what he was supposed to be doing. And just as more flashbulbs went off, they disappeared with a pop.

***

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***

When they arrived she turned on him in a blaze.

"You…," she pointed her finger at him.

"Yes?" he asked, avoiding her gaze.

"You purposely left us there until the reporters could get another picture of us standing close together."

Having adequately schooled his features, he turned to her.

"Really Granger, we were in a rush, I had to prepare myself so I wouldn't splinch you. Unless you'd prefer half your body to be back at the restaurant?" It sounded lame, even to his ears, but he couldn't very well tell her he had been distracted by the scent of her hair and closeness of her curves, especially since he planned on avoiding anything like that in future.

She huffed, unable to form an adequate reply.

"You're not used to being in the public eye yet," he observed.

"You could've apparated sooner is all I mean." She looked away, and he supposed this tension was alleviated, at least for the time being.

"Complaint noted," he stated.

"So this is Spinner's End," she said, with a bit of revulsion. Did Boy-Who-Wouldn't-Die not know how to keep any secrets? He couldn't blame her for the tone of her voice; however, the place looked pitiful.

He toyed with the wards for a few minutes. They recognized him as the new Master, but they were unused to him.

"Here we go," he said, and pushed open the door. It let out a long creak as it opened slowly.

Inside, there was a layer of dust that made it seem like this place had gone unused for far longer than a year. The entryway was cramped and dark and Draco moved into the sitting room after lighting a quick _lumos_.

"There would be nothing in here," he said. Still, he found himself drawn into the dark room, trying to imagine his godfather living here, sipping tea in his voluminous robes or falling in through the floo over there to land in a heap after a night of revelry or battle or punishment, boney fingers clutching for his potions.

Draco had not spent much time here at all. There were so many more rooms and opportunities for entertainment at the Malfoy Manor that he had not been required to visit Spinner's End very often. He did know, however, from being tutored by the man in some potions basics (more often simply watching the Master work), that his lab was accessible from the warded door behind the behind the Leda tapestry.

He unwarded the door and it became visible. He had hardly noticed Granger, but now he turned her attention away from the bookshelves with a cough. He beckoned her over and led the way down the winding stairs. A draft seemed to slip between the weave of his robes and clothing, causing his flesh to goose bump.

They emerged into the lab. It looked much the same (though a bit smaller) as when he had been a boy. Two long rough tables took up the majority of the floor space. The walls were covered in cabinets and shelves. Upon them, labeled in his elegant, impossible-to-read script, were the ingredients and tools he had accumulated and gathered over the years.

Draco's sense as the Master of the house led him to a warded section of the wall. He pushed aside the bag of griffin hairs, and moved some jars out, not seeing what they were but being careful with them just the same.

Once cleared, he pulled the plank aside. Inside the wall, a large tome was wedged. Using a length of canvas, he pulled it out and set it down on the nearest table. It was warded individually and being Master of the house did not extend to the magic placed on the journals.

It took them several hours to get past the spells and curses on the object. Granger, while being an encyclopedia of spells, did not always know which ones were best for what situation. That, he learned from dueling, came only with practice and experience using spells.

When they finally opened it, Granger took over the tome, deciphering the journals quickly, already taking her own notes. But it was okay, he needed a few minutes to himself anyway.

He didn't know it would hurt so much to be here. To be looking at the things his Godfather had worked with, had shaped and created and discovered. And to realize again that he had really hardly known the man at all. There had been a time, in sixth year, where he had been so sure his Godfather was on Voldemort's side, where he had wanted more than anything to prove to both him and his father that he could be powerful too. Everything had been so clear and so despairing.

It had been a ruse. And for what? The man was dead, finally at peace, perhaps.

"I'm going to ask the house elves to send over some tea. Any preferences?" he asked. She finally looked at him.

"You have house elves," she said, her chin drawing downward in a gesture not unlike McGonagal's.

"You do realize you ate food labored by house elves all seven years at Hogwarts?"

"That doesn't mean that I would chose to, had I been given a choice."

"It has now become my opinion that one needs to make a choice rather than wait to be given one that may never arrive." It didn't have the bite or malice he had intended to instill, so he left the room.

From the sitting room, he flooed to the Manor, and when he returned, he found she had separated many of the loose papers and smaller journals that had been pinned or stuck into the tome, into piles.

"Here," she said, bringing a pile in front of him. She had taken off her robes and her bare arm drawing across the table in front of him looked thin and soft in the dim light. "These look finished, or nearly finished. I'm thinking we might need to brew some of them to make sure they're tested properly."

Just because she had offered to help him with the paperwork did not mean than he wanted her nosying into all of the work. Didn't she have a job of her own to do?

He gave her a dark look, but she was too preoccupied with her own notes to appreciate it. He considered staring at her for awhile until she got his message, but then realized that such a subtle gesture such as staring for minutes on end was unrecognizable to the observations of a Gryffindor. His other reason for not wanting to spend too much time observing the woman was best left unsaid, as it was becoming more and more difficult to shove out of his mind.

A mind should be an orderly, logical place. That was something Severus Snape had tried to instill in him.

Just then, a house elf arrived with his tea. Along with a variety of cakes and sandwiches and scones and biscuits of course. He savored each sip and bite far more than he would usually, licking his lips as Granger looked up once more.

"Oh sod it, can I have a biscuit?" Granger dropped her notes onto the table and looked at him.

"How could I deny such a polite request?" he drawled.

"I suppose you prefer that, the politeness and manners." She shuddered.

"It's a requirement of being the best."

"Are you the best?" she asked, taking a biscuit.

Of course he was the best, he was intelligent and downright handsome and impeccable at everything from the shine on his shoes to the arch of his eyebrow, and he was—

"I'm trying," he said. "You must've noticed that. I thought we were getting along quite well."

She did not look convinced.

"Well, I'm almost done here and then I'll be out of your hair," she said, turning back to her work. As if he would let any comment or action on her part muss his hair.

"You found what you needed," he said, unsurprised.

She nodded. "He really was brilliant. I'm sorry that the rest of the world didn't get to see that."

"He wouldn't have liked that," Draco said.

She looked at him again. He was unsure whether these looks bode ill or good. And they were becoming more frequent, her looking at him like he was some sort of puzzle or arithmancy eq—there it was, the biting on the lower lip.

He busied himself with the notes of finished potions.

The rest of the afternoon passed swiftly and she was gone in a moment, gathering up her papers with a swish and muttering a goodbye.

"I'll owl you when I'm ready to begin the patenting process," he said as she walked up the stairs. He felt her leave the wards a minute later.

Unsatisfied with his progress on Snape's notes, he gathered up his things to leave as well.

He stepped outside of the house, wishing to seal it for a good long while.

Something had shifted within him after today. The whole day had seemed unreal, just him and her, and yet it had happened and he felt that he was missing something important. He, like his Godfather, had never enjoyed uncertainties. He looked once more at the abandoned house (more of a place to work than a home), and brought the wards up fully, encasing the building in its own capsule away from the ravages of time.

***

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**A/N:** Bit more sadness than I anticipated, but Draco took over this chapter. 

**Next:** two unlikely dates.


	4. An Unsound Remembrance

**In the Era of Innovation

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**

Previously: Hermione accepted a date invitation from Blaise Zabini, Hermione and Draco worked together to find Snape's journals for the Hermione's work in the Department of Mysteries.

**Chapter 4**

**An Unsound Remembrance**

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**

It took Ginny and Luna three hours, 3 bottles of sleekeasy, one straightener, 2 curlers and fifty-two bobby pins to get Hermione's hair just right.

"Next you really ought to develop a better hair straightening potion," Ginny said. Hermione caught her eye in the mirror with a grin.

"I should, huh? I mean, who can care about the rights of magical creatures or the development of better healing potions when their hair is a mess?" Hermione sighed dramatically. She thought she looked rather like Pansy Parkinson with her face twisted in such a manner, which was scary.

"Oh, I think clearer when my hair is a mess. I always thought that your hair must affect you as well, Hermione," Luna said. She was on Hermione's bed, lazily drawing circles on her arms with Ginny's eyeliner.

"Oh, really, Hermione, I know you have better things to apply your mind towards. However, if you do find some extra time, it might not be a bad idea to invest some work into yourself. Think of all the time you'd save getting ready for each date."

Ginny once more liberally sprayed the hair spray ("_like gaseous cement-glue!_") one arm out toward Hermione, spraying, the other covering her nose and mouth. Hermione screwed her eyes shut. Luna hiccupped, or coughed (though it seemed too cute to Hermione to be a cough).

"I think we may've killed a few brain cells with that," Ginny said, coughing. "At least make something better than this foul stuff for next time."

"This one instance of a date is hardly celebration for the continuance of my going out. If I hadn't already agreed to it, I'd be quite happily working on my research as we speak."

Luna briefly excused herself. Hermione figured the fumes of the hairspray were getting to her and could relate. While Ginny was touching up a few curls, Hermione finally got the courage to talk about her nerves.

"I'm a bit nervous," Hermione confessed. Ginny rolled her eyes.

"I saw that!" Hermione glared. "I mean, I'm not even really sure if this is a date."

"Oh, it's a date alright. The chocolates he sent leave no question of that. Speaking of…" Ginny sauntered over and grabbed one of the delicate truffles from the box. She popped it into her mouth, her eyes rolling up in ecstasy. Licking her lips, she asked, "Want one?"

Hermione remembered Draco's' comment on her eating habits. She almost thought she ought not to go to dinner so hungry. Then she realized, though perhaps it was a good trick to make a woman seem like she ate like a bird that was not something she would do. Beside, Blaise was paying for it so she might as well eat however much she wanted.

"No thanks," she said. Her thoughts turned back to her impending date. "But he doesn't exactly have the best reputation. I don't get his sudden interest either. He never even tried to snog me in school."

"Oh, I snogged him once."

"Ginny!"

"Well, before Harry, obviously. Blaise was very good at it. I can imagine he convinced quite a few girls to let him deflower them." Ginny looked faraway.

"Not you, I hope."

"Of course not." Something about the way she snapped back to the present and blushed didn't convince Hermione. "But I always imagined him to be a very good lover."

"I just want to get through this so I can go back to work."

"Hermione Granger! You are going to relax and have fun and let him kiss you or I swear I'll drag out of that basement you call an office and set you up with someone, many someones, until you can let yourself relax!" She looked fiery and tall and dangerous (brandishing the hot curler around like it was a weapon) and Hermione was reminded of Mrs. Weasley. They were not women one wanted to cross.

"Oh," Hermione said after a moment. "I'll try not to think about work."

It was really the most she could promise.

Thankfully at that moment, Luna bounded up the stairs.

Hermione had gotten up from her vanity and was about to leave through the door when Luna fastened something in her hair.

"You look enchanting!" Luna cheered, and her sweet smile couldn't help but to elicit one from Hermione as well.

"I hope so; I needed all the confidence I could get, thanks girls." Ginny had an odd look on her face.

"Maybe you should go look in the—" Ginny began.

The portrait downstairs began wailing.

"That must be him. I'll go keep Harry busy so he doesn't give Blaise one of those big-brother talks."

True to her word, Ginny caught Harry at the wrist just as he was exiting his room, and proceeded to entice him back into it.

"Don't forget to ask him for his blood!" Luna said, ushering her down the stairs. Hermione looked back at Harry's closed door.

"Luna, have you ever shagged anyone?"

"Yes, though I do miss the unicorns."

She couldn't help but wonder: had everyone had intercourse except for her?

Seeing Blaise did not help her stow away her errant thoughts about kissing and shagging. His height, the dark angles of his face and the intensity of his gaze sent shivers down her spine. Hermione was intrigued.

They stared at each other as she walked down the remaining stairs. Luna had somehow quieted the old portrait.

Blaise blinked a few times, and Hermione had a sudden overwhelming bout of anxiety, did she look okay?

"You look very nice, Miss Granger," he said, holding his arm out to her at the last few steps. Hermione steadied herself and wondered at her insecurities. She knew she looked more than acceptable, why should she doubt herself, or her friends?

Hermione looked around, but Luna had disappeared. "I guess I'm ready to go."

They stepped out onto the stoop and Blaise apparated them away.

The establishment was nice, far too nice. In fact, to get in they had to swim through a group of reporters and photographers. She practically pulled Blaise along, trying to get through without any embarrassing photos being taken. He seemed to take it in stride, not letting his collected guard down an inch.

"How can you stand it?" she asked.

"Just pretend they aren't there." He pulled her closer. And then she did smile, until the flashbulb pop sent stars swimming in front of her eyes.

When she adjusted to the light inside (which was really horridly under lit), she caught her breath. The dark rooms were covered in fine draperies and stars glittered in the dark expanse that resembled sky. Floating candles lent some light to the tables, which were sculpted from dark marble. A few columns separated sections of the floor.

They settled into a table near the center. Hermione could make out a lot of the constellations, even some she shouldn't have been able to see with the naked eye, like all of the seven sisters.

"What have you been up to, Blaise?" she asked.

"I have a job as a part-time financial advisor assistant at the Ministry. The reason you haven't seen me is because I have to be careful getting in and out of that place. I can't let my mother know I have a job."

"Really? She'd rather you be drinking and carousing rather than contributing to society and trying to make a career for yourself?"

"She'd be all for a career. But a Zabini doesn't start out as an _assistant_, not in her traditional mind anyway. She would suggest some connection or another to get a better position. Of course, times have changed and I really do need to start on the bottom now and prove my merit. I just need to hold off on her getting wind of it before I get a promotion."

"That's very admirable. But how are you going to do that?"

"I was hoping you might have a few ideas."

"Actually there is something I'm supposed to ask you. Can I have some of your blood?"

"Have you turned vampire recently, Miss Granger? Or merely keeping one as a pet? I would never have suspected."

"Please call me Hermione. And no, it's for a DoM research project. Luna wanted me to ask you."

"I'd be honored to bestow some of the 'pureness' of my blood." His smile had an edge. She almost wasn't certain that he was joking. "So I have one alibi now."

"That's an improvement."

And just as the date seemed to be going swimmingly well, she caught sight of Draco Malfoy being seated with Pansy Parkinson.

He looked, as usual, debonair with an effortless grace. He stalked to his seat like an angel, barely sparing a thought for his date. His robes were a dark stormy grey that held just a bit of shimmer in the candlelight. She thought she caught his eyes, so she looked more intently at her own date, brushing the icy prince out of her mind.

***

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***

The worst had happened. Pansy had sent another invitation (for fear her poor owl had gotten lost and dropped the last one –for surely if Draco had received it he would have replied by now?) and his mother had caught wind of it. He suspected the house elves.

At any rate, his mother had already replied and now he was obliged to take Pansy out on her date to Mariella's. The wealthy and affluent frequented there and reporters were always snapping pictures as couples or groups went and left the establishment, formulating theories on why who was with whom.

Pansy, looking delightfully sickening in silver robes and emerald earrings (really, just because they were Slytherin colors didn't mean one should wear them if they didn't go with one's complexion), grasped his arm tightly and smiled, with those sharp teeth, toward the paparazzi as he led her in.

The restaurant itself was as he remembered it. What had changed was the service. Gone were the house elves (though he suspected they still slaved away in the kitchen) and now real people (wizards? Squibs?) served the tables.

He was used to getting the best table, out of sight of most of the other patrons, but a glance at a green-haired beauty intrigued him. She was facing away from him, but he could see the delicate line of her neck and the glow of her unblemished skin was starkly contrasted by her black dress.

"A table on the main floor," he requested.

"But Drakie," Pansy began, nails digging father into his arm. He shushed her with a glance. That's when he noticed who the mystery woman's date was. Blaise Zabini. A dark fire, one he'd thought quite dead by now, stirred within him.

He followed the host across the floor, eyes darting toward the woman when he could manage it. The color of the hair, a dark tone of green with a delicate but understated ornament nestled in the bun of curls, was not altogether unattractive, simply unusual, striking. It caused her not only to stand out, but to underlie her own natural beauty.

Right as they got to their table, he was able to catch the features of her face, the brightness of her eyes. He was certain that she saw him.

He fumbled with Pansy's chair. The waiter took care of it as Draco seated himself.

Pansy immediately set to gossiping.

"Did you see who's over there? Hermione Granger! I wonder that they let in such filth nowadays…" Pansy hissed with excitement.

"Shut it, Pansy," he said. It was probably the only (bluntly) rude thing he'd ever said to her.

"I didn't know you liked the Know-It-All so much," she huffed.

"Jealous of her intelligence, or her confidence in style?"

"_That_ is a lack of style." She giggled. "Could you imagine if I just showed up to our date sporting blue hair for no reason?"

Draco thought he might at least appreciate the ingenuity and boldness.

Wait. Was he praising Gryffindor attributes?

No, just Hermione attributes. Things weren't quite adding up in his head. Or things were adding up to the wrong thing in his head, and the heavy feeling in his stomach (that threatened to ignite his fist) was growing the more he saw Blaise interact with her.

"I bet you a hundred galleons that half the witches will be sporting green hair all next week," he said instead.

Pansy twisted her lips, then seemed to remember how unattractive that was and pasted on a smile.

"Oh, I suppose those that follow trends might. I prefer a classic style. I'm sure she's just a trend to Zabini as well." His wand hand twitched.

"No, Zabini must have something else up his sleeve."

He was already bored of Pansy. He watched Blaise lean in to finish a story or joke, Hermione's eyes wide as she listened, then they crinkled as she smiled. She started to go off on a story of her own, and then she paused abruptly. He saw her beg pardon and excuse herself from the table, making her way to the restrooms, he guessed.

"…And really I hope they're still keeping those poor elves in work. I don't think they can survive without a life full of work and purpose. Right, Draco?"

"Of course. I'm sure they're in the kitchen. In fact," he said, rising to his feet. "I must beg your leave to go make sure the elves have plenty of work and have not been cast onto the streets."

If Pansy replied, he didn't hear it.

He caught up to her in the corridor that led to the restrooms. The dim lighting made her difficult to see, but the green hair was still hard to miss.

"Hello, Miss Granger. I'm glad to see you're not buried in your work." He was attempting the cool but charming approach.

"Oh, yes I would prefer to be working right now, but I made this engagement before our meeting. Now, if you'll excuse me."

He blocked her path, his tone changing to serious.

"But I must warn you against your chosen company. He has made a very unfavorable series of indiscretions that mark his character in a negative light."

"Why would you be trying to cast someone else in a negative light? Trying to make yourself look better? Really, Malfoy, I don't feel up to bantering with you."

"Oh, but I love bantering with you," he said and realized it was true.

"Please, I-"

That's when he realized that something was terribly wrong. Hermione would never tell him please if she were in her right mind. He moved closer, noticing the trembling of her hands and the glazed look on her eyes.

"What's wrong?" he asked in a frenzied whisper.

She fell, and he caught her around the waist. Her skin was too warm, feverish.

"Hey, boy!" he called to a passing waiter. "Tell her date I've taken her to St. Mungos."

He saw the boy's eyes widen before he apparated away.

***

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A/N: Thanks to my reviewers, and my one lone review for the last chapter which convinced me to continue onward. Thanks to blueskyshymoon, you have another chapter!

Next: Blood work.


	5. Encompassing Realizations

**In the Era of Innovation

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**

Previously: Hermione collapsed while on her date with Blaise. Draco takes her to St. Mungos.

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**Chapter 5  
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**Encompassing Realizations**

She woke up with that dreary achy feeling of pain that was not quite absent. Her brain knew her body should be experiencing more pain that it cared to acknowledge at the moment. She tried to delay movement, but even the subtle flutter of her eyelids triggered an involuntary stretch of her spine and that only increased her discomfort.

"Here, you're supposed to drink this when you wake up," someone handed her a potion. As she chugged it down, she realized the man sitting beside her, leaning over, his hair falling across his cheekbones, his eyes intently focused on her lips, was Draco Malfoy.

Perhaps her face betrayed her confusion for after she had finished swallowing the awful concoction, he told her, "You're at St. Mungos, you were stabilized about half an hour ago."

"Was it really necessary to bring me here?" she croaked.

"When I found you, you couldn't even think of a retort worthy of your usual callousness, oh and yes, I can't forget that moment when you _collapsed_. It was very necessary."

She recalled the dim lighting of the hallway, the stars in the faux sky. And she remembered him, looking so very much in those feverish moments like a demon disguised as an angel, filling up the hall, comforting her with his looks but dangerously brandishing words about like _she_ had used her laughter, flooding Hermione's ears with the roar of the ocean.

"I supposed you've got it all figured out now," she said, letting her head drop back onto her pillow.

"I could hazard a few guesses. Though it is not my place to say so, you really ought to take better care of yourself, Granger. In fact, as your business partner, I insist upon taking you out to dinner next Friday night."

"To be sure I don't skip it and continue working the night away? You sound like Harry, though he's just being my friend, and _he_ couldn't accomplish it."

"You would begrudge me trying to be your friend?"

"That's not what you said."

"But what if it is what I meant? Not everyone is as straightforward as you Gryffindors, but I could attempt it this once I suppose. Tell me, Hermione, does your offer of friendship extend to a former enemy?"

"All last year, you spent most of it quite alone, yes? Why didn't you try to talk to me?" She had seen him last year in the library many many days. Always on Tuesdays and Thursdays from seven to eight as she studied Arithmancy, though sometimes, he'd be on the over side of a few stacks, his brilliant hair shining through the gaps in the shelves as he moved about. He'd seemed so different from the boy of his earlier years. There was no one following him around, no one seeking his lead on social developments, no one reached out to him at all. He had that same look again now, like a lonely lost boy.

"I was still trying to forgive myself. I couldn't ask it of anyone else."

With his features drawn in uncertainty, she felt the impact of the dark simplicity of his statement.

"I suppose dinner wouldn't be too horrible. It can't be much worse than this one was at any rate." She knew, then, that he was taking advantage of her vulnerable state, asking her for friendship (_for what reason?_ screamed her brain). Perhaps it was the intense look in his eyes that triggered the memory, but something occurred to her. "What was it you were saying earlier, about Blaise? Were you trying to warn me against him?"

"I would never impose such a warning. However, I think it would be prudent for you to remember a few rules Slytherins tend to abide by. One of which is the fact that Slytherins always have more than one reason behind a plan of action."

"What were your reasons for bringing me here?" she asked.

Draco winced, his head slightly tilted, but continued on. He looked much more the man she had begun to get to know, rather than the lost boy and she was amazed at the quickness of the transformation.

"Not the right question you should be asking, but very well. One: You're my new business partner. Two: It would've been very bad for my reputation to leave one of the Golden Trio passed out in a corridor. Three: It's much better for anyone these days to be on the right side of those with the new regime."

He leaned back, a smug look on his face.

"Why go after me at all, though?"

After some consideration, he leaned in, as if about to divulge a great secret and whispered in her ear: "If you must know, I was inquiring after the welfare of the elves."

The first few words sent shivers down her spine as his hot breath moved across the sensitive skin of her ear and neck. And then, as realization dawned Hermione burst into laughter. She then stopped abruptly as the sudden movement in her stomach caused the muscles to flare up with fire. She clutched at her stomach, and Malfoy rose, one hand near her head, the other hovering near her stomach, unsure.

She didn't even notice the door open and two boys take in the scene.

"Oi! What've you done to her, Malfoy!" Harry yelled. Ron didn't bother with words, but sent a stinging hex right at Draco's torso. Harry followed it up with a _petrificus totalus_.

"Stop! I'm fine. I was just-" she thought quickly, she couldn't very well tell them that Malfoy had made her laugh. She drew in her breath and tried to relax her muscles once more. "Malfoy's the one that saved me. Let him go."

Harry reluctantly released the petrificus spell with a wave of his hand. Ron still held his wand tightly, pointed at the blonde man, wariness in his eyes.

Malfoy, still wincing from the hex, still managed to smirk at the boys, his icy eyes glowing. "That's correct, I saved her. I found your friend here quite distraught and brought her to St. Mungos. Now, if you'll excuse me, I must let the public know that she is alright."

And with perfect poise, as if he had not just been caught unawares and bested by two wizards, he strode out of the room.

"So, he saved you and now he's off to make sure it's all in the papers now," Harry grumbled.

"Oh, I'm quite alright now. There's really no harm in it." She still felt light-headed, but at least the pain was a shadow once more.

"You know all these pureblood folk, they're itching to get back onto the top graces of society. I heard Malfoy's nearly bankrupt with all the money he's had to donate and pay for reparations," Harry continued.

"You mean he's going to use this to his advantage, proclaim himself the hero?" Ron asked, understanding finally dawning.

"Don't begrudge him a chance to improve his reputation, especially in an honest way," Hermione stated.

Ron mumbled something about sneaky bastards, and Hermione glared at him. "I am not," she continued. "Under any spell or curse that Malfoy might've brilliantly played on me in order to conveniently 'save' me. It would take a lot get a trick past me, don't you agree?"

Harry's eyebrows rose, his mouth agape, and even Ron looked at her a little incredulously. His eyebrows furrowed together.

"What?" she asked after the silence had gone on too long for her liking.

"Er, Your hair-" Harry mumbled.

"I don't know if that's a fashion thingy- statement! But yeah..." Ron continued.

"What?" she asked again, her voice rising in pitch.

"It's green," Ron said, looking up at her, his eyebrows high. Hermione looked at Harry, daring him with her eyes to tell her it was a joke.

"Your hair is green," Harry confirmed.

"Oh." She looked down, where some of her curls had fallen out of the bun, trailing bobby pins in her sheets and indeed, as she pulled it down her shoulders further to inspect it, the locks were a verdant shade of green.

Everything kind of made sense now. No wonder she had been getting weird looks all night. And Blaise, her eyes widened, he must've thought she was one odd witch! And it would probably be in papers. The witches would be giggling about her all next week. Oh well, it's not like she wanted a perfect fake reputation anyway.

As soon as she smiled, it was all the permission the boys needed to crack up and roar with laughter. Hermione found herself swept up in it as well, until she was reminded of the pain.

"Laughing is a bad idea at the moment," she said with a stern gaze.

Harry shot her a puzzled look. Then she remembered that the boys had walked in when she had been in laughter pain just minutes before. Hermione thought quickly.

"Can you please go see when I can get out of here Harry?"

As soon as Harry excited, she realized her mistake. It left her with an equally awkward situation. She and Ron were alone for the first time since she had effectively dumped him.

She set to work untangling her hair and unfastening the offending hair ornament. It looked like the color was going to take some time to fade, however.

"Was it George?"

"Oh, it is definitely George's invention. Though his accomplice was someone unexpected." She would never have expected Luna to be the messenger. All the more clever of George; she would never had let George near her while she was getting ready for a date.

"Good, I'm glad he's finding things to laugh about again." They both recalled the dark time George had had of it last year, made worst since both Ron and Ginny had been away at Hogwarts. Surprisingly, it had only been Percy who had managed to get through to the reclusive George, by demanding that he move into the twin's flat. He literally showed up with his bags and wouldn't budge. He had cleaned up the flat, made sure George ate and bathed and eventually something had gotten through to George, some sense of hope had renewed him.

"I'm sure Fred wouldn't want it any other way," she said, remembering their faces together.

"It's just hard sometimes. Everyone wants to forget, no one wants to remember." She had forgotten that Fred's death had been hard on Ron as well. What he said would eat at her for a while to come.

"But every time he plays a prank we remember. I think that's why George still does it. It's his way of remembering and honoring Fred."

They shared a warm smile. She was so blessed to be a part of his tight family.

"Hey, aren't you supposed to be in training?" she asked.

"You know I'd go anywhere if I thought you were there in trouble or hurt," he said simply.

"Ron…" she began.

"I know, 'Mione." He said with a sigh. He turned from her to look out the enchanted window, stretching his long arms back behind him. "It's just gonna take a little while for me to remember to treat you like family, not the greatest love I could've ever had."

"Please, don't-"

"Don't what, make you feel as bad as you made me feel?" he swiveled toward her, and she felt very small and very exposed on the tiny bed. She felt truly awful and hated the feeling. She just wanted it to go away and it wouldn't, not while he was looking at her like that,

"Ok, I'll drop it. Only because you're in _here_ and I really want to know _why_."

"I can't tell you, it has to do with my research," she sniffled.

"I get it, top secret work and all that. They should be paying you more than the standard researcher, initiate or whatever rate, it seems pretty dangerous."

"Oh, it's dangerous for everyone. I wouldn't take a raise just because of the part I played in the war." She waved it away.

"Yea, but not everyone's like that."

Then, it clicked in Hermione's head. All the clues Draco had been giving her. Blaise's sudden interest in her, the conversation about his new job and a promotion he badly wanted.

"That bastard! That Slytherin!" she hissed, her fists pounding down onto her mattress (which the muscles in her arms instantly regretted). She sighed, "How was I so stupid?"

"What, is it Malfoy? Can I pummel him now?" Ron looked up at her hopefully, his wand at the ready in a heartbeat.

"No, no. It's Blaise," she groaned, face turned into her pillow.

"Blaise Zabini," Ron said, his mouth twisted like the name left the taste of slugs in his mouth. "What does he have to do with anything?"

She groaned, wondering at her stupidity for thinking that he might have been interested in her as a person, as a woman. She wasn't going to cry.

"He was just trying to use me get a promotion at work I think. At least I didn't go on more than one date with him." She wasn't going to cry.

The realization swept over Ron and he wilted.

"You're already going on dates."

"Oh, Ron…" She _wasn't _going to cry.

"I think I should go. You know, gotta get up at 5 am for training in the morning. Owl me if you need anything." She could see that he just needed space and time.

"Sure."

A few minutes later, Harry came back.

"When are they going to release me?"

"Hopefully soon. Listen, 'Mione, why didn't you tell me you were having these problems?"

"It only happened once before. It's not like I'm completely scrambled or anything. Just some extra pain sometimes, that's all. I'm working on it. I may have a prototype for a cure in two weeks, maybe one, if I can go to work tomorrow that is."

"Tomorrow's Saturday. If they let you out of here I'll be keeping you under house arrest anyway," Harry threatened.

Hermione sighed. Worst to worst, she'd get Ginny to provide a distraction so she could sneak out. That reminded her of the high hopes she had had for the evening, and the fact that she hadn't even gotten a kiss.

"Ron left, I take it? He's been a mess this whole week, you know. If he didn't have training to throw himself into I don't know what he would've done."

"I don't really want to talk about it."

***

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***

It was in the Daily Prophet the very next morning. Hermione sat in their kitchen her cup of tea in hand, Harry mucking about in the front room, warding the house so she couldn't leave all day, and settled her legs beneath her body in her favorite reading position before she began.

_Malfoy Lord saves Miss Granger_

_Draco Malfoy, the youngest Malfoy Lord in a century, voted number four on last year's Most Eligible Bachelors list, recent Hogwarts graduate (6 NEWTS), saved Miss Granger, Order of Merlin, first class, Hogwarts graduate (8 NEWTS),after she fainted at the reputable Marisma's. Both were there on dates with other people, young Mr. Zabini accompanied our lady. When Miss Granger took a moment to go to the powder room, she fainted in the hallway. Luckily Mr. Malfoy was there to scoop her up and apparate her immediately to St. Mungos, where she was patched up quickly. _

_Reasons for her illness were not disclosed, but one Healer confessed that if Mr. Malfoy had not taken her to St. Mungos so quickly, our bright Department of Mysteries employee might have experienced more complications. "Despite the differences we were forced to display during our time at Hogwarts," confided the young Malfoy, "Hermione and I have grown closer in the safe environment under the leadership of Minister Kinsley." Indeed, this writer witnessed the duo amicably having lunch last week. If this is truly to become a world where one can set aside blood and ideological differences, then perhaps Mr. Malfoy and Miss Granger are the role models for such tolerant behavior._

Hermione leaned back after rereading the article for the third time.

Oh, he was good. It made Blaise's play look positively amateur.

However, one thing did not sit quite right with Hermione. Draco's words, "_Slytherins always have more than one reason behind a plan of action_" kept repeating themselves in her head. She had to be careful with him, there was a possibility that that vulnerable side he exposed was just for show. Rather than deterring her, however, the possibilities opened up before her and sent tingles of excitement through her body. She always loved a good mystery.

***

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A/N:Thanks you all so much for the reviews, they really convinced me to get this chapter up very quickly (hint hint).

I didn't plan for Ron to show up again so soon, but there he is. Anyway, Hermione's not perfect and she probably should feel a little guilty for how she handled their last encounter, so here it is. I do believe maybe she could've had a happily ever after with Ron, but it wouldn't be nearly as interesting as what I have in store for her. (And my way allows her to achieve a lot more of her goals and dreams I think).

If you haven't noticed, I really like numbers and symmetry. The Chapters are written in pairs. I'm cycling through the povs, first half/half, second Hermione, third Malfoy. So expect to see some of our hunky hero-of-the-hour next chapter.


	6. Of the Excluded

**In the Era of Innovation

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Previously: Malfoy Lord saves Miss Granger.

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**Chapter 6**

**Of the Excluded**

_It wasn't as hard for him to go back as he had feared. His favorite seat was warm and soft and had a perfect view of this half of the library. When the sun shone through the windows it warmed the carpet and his skin and illuminated the dust motes that lingered around his body._

_It wasn't so bad, to be ignored. _

_Except he wasn't completely ignored. The jeers, the whispers, the glares, he could take those. The seat at the end of the long Slytherin table, the eggs broken in his trunk and bed, the sod that had splashed ink all over his homework, those were harder to deal with._

_Only in here, surrounded by impartial tomes and the Ravenclaws who judged solely based on academic merit, could he find some measure of peace._

_He had assumed the youngest would show the worse effects. But it was actually the eldest who had the rougher time of it. Many had not returned to Hogwarts, still more spent too much time obsessed with one thing or another. He caught Pansy chugging pain potions. Blaise lost himself in arithmancy and numbers. Nott had gone abroad, chasing or being chased by the ghost of his father._

_And outwardly they all seemed unaffected. He wondered if it was the same for students in the other houses._

_One Gryffindor who diligently worked, her life revolving around a study schedule that she followed like clockwork, seemed so thoughtful, so put-together, so impossibly level. _

_He wondered if she had nightmares too._

***

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***

He hated this time, in the predawn light, when sleep wouldn't come and the sun hadn't shown up to banish his memories yet.

He rose from his bed as the sun rose. It was finally a socially acceptable time to rise.

He ate breakfast with his mother down in her Sunroom. The room was brightened by the floor-to-ceiling windows alongside one wall. The light was filtered somewhat through the vines of the garden outside that crawled up the walls and windows and threatened to break inside. The room was done in warm amber and a light sky blue and quite empty as he arrived early on Monday morning.

This week's fresh edition of _Witches Weekly _was on the table. Not that he read witches magazines on a regular basis. He just knew that he would be included in this particular issue.

_Witches Weekly _had rehashed the prophet's article, adding in photos of Hermione and Blaise walking into Marisma's that night (he sneered at the dark boy's possessive arm) and one of the two of them (which he found much more appealing)about to apparate away from their lunch meeting. From a distance, the closeness of their bodies looked even more intimate than he remembered. Perhaps because he had been trying to forget that moment.

This year's number one most eligible bachelor title was his for certain. Especially since Harry Potter was off the market. Someone had leaked the Number One War Hero and his red-head's upcoming nuptials and that article had pushed back Draco's own hero story to the number two slot in the magazine. Really, a marriage announcement was more important than a woman's life?

"Draco, dear, do wear the blue robes tonight, I'm thinking of inviting Astoria Greengrass for dinner. Lady Greengrass hinted that she would be at the bookstore today so I will conveniently bump into her there this afternoon. Draco?"

He had been so busy hiding away the magazine that his mother's words didn't register in his brain for several seconds.

"Mother, you will not be asking Miss Greengrass for dinner." He rarely directly addressed his mother in this manner, but on this matter he could not bulge.

"Do you ever think that I might be lonely sometimes? That perhaps all I wish for is another person to talk to this evening?" She opened her hands innocently as she took the seat across from him.

"Then invite one of your own friends. Not a girl that hasn't even graduated Hogwarts yet."

"I just want to give you ample opportunities to find a nice, respectable woman. You do realize all the good prospects will be taken very soon? Perhaps if dinner will not do…"

He did not like the scheming look in his mother's eyes.

"Yes," she stated with a nod to herself. "I will arrange a ball to celebrate the end of summer. All the eligible young daughters of all the proper families will be invited…"

His mother went on to describe the dance and activities she would employ to be sure he found a proper match. It sounded like hell. Just as she was getting to deciding on the right choice for music, he interrupted.

"That will not do at all."

"Give me a real reason, Draco," she challenged him with her icy eyes.

"I'm dating someone."

He instantly regretted it.

"Draco, this is wonderful news. Why ever didn't you tell me sooner? You must invite her over for dinner."

"She would be disinclined to visit I fear. Perhaps down the road."

Narcissa fell back upon her lounge, with a small shake of her head.

"Men always move too slowly. Women know from the first moment, whether they are willing to invest in a relationship. If she has any brain at all, she would note your attributes and consider herself ready to accept as soon as you propose."

He scowled.

"Mother, I am not looking to marry yet."

"But you must start young, dear. It took me far too many years to conceive. You never know what the fates might send your way." Her smile faded, and Draco realized that his mother was getting older, and perhaps she was too lonely, and he had no idea what to do about it.

"These things take time," he said.

Narcissa raised one eyebrow. "I thought you didn't believe in love."

"I have never felt such inclinations."

"If you didn't hope for it, you would have been sensible and listed the pros and cons for each possible match and decided based on arithmathical data who was your best match, and your own feelings wouldn't factor in at all."

"Perhaps I ought to do just that." He stormed out. Certainly his mother had given up her life for his, risked it as she gave birth to him in spite of the complications, risked it again as she lied to Voldemort, but did that give her the right to dictate his affairs?

Apparently it did. And he had told her he was seeing someone. The woman that popped into his mind, the wild, independent, untamed woman, she might not find this development very agreeable.

He was so caught up in his own musings that he flinched at the unknown presence in his study, his wand out in his palm in a brief second.

The suspect was standing by the fireplace, had arrived via floo and made himself at home on the charmuse sofa.

"I wasn't expecting you quite this early," Draco said. "Care for a drink?"

There was a pregnant pause. Blaise was always a sucker for dramatic effect.

"She won't return my owls," Blaise said, a dark edge to his tone.

Draco let the comment wash over him. He knew Blaise was trying to illicit a response that would incriminate Draco. He poured himself a glass of water so he could indulge himself with a quick smile while his face was turned away.

"Really Blaise, you're being especially obtuse and quite vague today. I do hope you understand that I'm simply not in the mood to play guessing games."

"I wonder if she knows you're about to play her the same way, and most likely she'll end up much worse for it. I don't think she'll be too happy if she were to hear about that."

The man looked as if he hadn't slept. Draco, even without much sleep, knew he looked much better.

"I see. Your problem, Blaise, is your attitude. Never presume to know what the lady thinks. She's a lot smarter than you assumed, she caught wind of your motives without me having to say anything. I'm not about to make the same mistake. Now, are we going to let a girl get in the way of our business arrangement?" he asked with a smirk.

"No."

He knew Blaise would say no. No girl, not even one with the fame that Granger had, was worth crossing a Malfoy over. Even in these times, he had several advantages and he would be using them to the fullest of his abilities to restore his name to its proper place of respect.

"Good. What's the news in the ministry?" Draco settled into his seat behind his desk.

"Someone's dug up a whole load of research in the DoM that someone else or a few someones had tried to destroy not too long ago. It's all very secretive at the moment, but I have a feeling, under the new regime of ours, that this information will definitely get published this time around."

"No one that would've tried to hide the research would still be free or alive, right?" Draco was getting a sinking feeling in his stomach.

"It was most likely someone inside the department. That's why it's hush-hush at the moment. No one in there was ever accused or linked with the Death Eaters so the Aurors are assuming it was blackmail or bribes."

Draco didn't like that at all. And he had a feeling Hermione was involved in this research, whatever it was. He tapped his fingers in his desk.

Blaise smiled like he had a secret. Draco knew that smile, and immediately ceased his tapping; that smile bode no good for him. Draco reinforced his cool exterior expression.

"I suspect we'll all be hearing about it soon, then. Nothing worth any investment?"

"Negative. From what I've gathered its uses are limited to legislation."

"Right. How's the Thomas factory?"

"He hired several werewolves and a wizard fresh out of Hogwarts to manufacture."

"That's good."

"Yes, you don't have to pay them but a pittance. I've drawn up the cost projections-"

"It will be a regular wage," Draco said.

"Werewolves don't have the rights to demand a full wage. As your financial advisor, I'd suggest-"

"I'm willing to spare a few extra galleons for the happiness of the employees. We wouldn't want to get the bad side of werewolves, would we? If that's all." He dismissed the other man. Blaise, while useful, was beginning to get on his nerves. It wasn't the man's fault; he was just trying to get by this world. Draco suspected that his newfound animosity for the boy he had been friends with for nearly all of his childhood stemmed from the recent development of Miss Granger.

He sighed, and set aside his ledger for the moment. He had been avoiding the reality – his attraction to a woman who had such passion and worked relentlessly toward her goals, and he was pushing these thoughts down like they were… forbidden? Crazy? Completely unprecedented in the history of his family?

Yet, times had changed. He was damned if he was going to let old traditions stand in the way of his goals. He had let his ancestors dictate the path of his life long enough.

He set to work.

_Reasons for Draco to Date Hermione:_

_She is attractive_

_She has ambition, is clever and is not afraid to change the world_

_She is unattainable_

_Reasons for Hermione to Date Draco:_

_He is attractive_

_He has money and connections and is not afraid to use them_

_He will surprise you_

Really, there was nothing else to write. Why hadn't he thought of it sooner? He felt that now, with several positive points neatly ascribed, that he might actually have a chance.

And that was the most dangerously exciting thought he'd had in a long, long time.

***

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**A/N:** Forgive me for the shorter chapter, holidays and such. Thanks to all my reviewers! Be sure to sign in when you review so I can reply to you!

The new tidbit in the summary will be in the next chapter!


	7. All for Show

**In the Era of Innovation

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**

**Chapter 7**

**All for Show**

It was late Thursday night or technically Friday morning, when she felt a disturbance in the wards at Grimmauld Place. She had of course carefully helped Harry establish the wards when they moved in and was thus privy to an itchy tingle when unfamiliar people passed through the wards.

"Oh, good, you're up." Harry said coming up the stairs when she ventured outside of her room.

"Good morning, Hermione," came Luna's voice from the bottom of the stairs.

"She's gotta hide out here for today. Some people are not going to be very happy when a certain law gets passed. You better stay in too." Harry was in full-Auror mode.

"What's this all about?" she asked.

"Oh, I found some things in the department. Someone tried really hard to hide them. But I think the department has its own way of doing things. It was time for it to be found."

"What is it?"

"The research about blood."

"Are you sure you want to know, Hermione? I mean, it's better if you don't. In case someone tries to interview you." Harry said, a frown between his brows.

"If I'm going to help protect Luna I should hope I would get to know. Otherwise, there's nothing to keep me from going to work today."

"Alright, Luna you can tell her. I'm going to strengthen the wards." Harry stalked away.

"Well, I was following a weirnbuckle one day-"

"A what? Nevermind."

"And it kept bringing me around to this one spot near the brain room. It was a great bookcase, but it smelled like grass, which I thought was odd, considering books don't usually go rolling around in the grass. Or maybe I've just never seen them do such a thing…"

"Of course not." Hermione folded her arms.

"As I was perusing the titles, I tripped over something. I'm fairly certain it was a brownie, but I couldn't get a good look at it before it disappeared because I fell into the bookcase."

"_Into_ the bookcase?" Hermione asked.

"Oh yes, It was a bit of a tight fit. But there were some very curious files there. Research someone had spent years working on, tucked away in that secret space. So I contributed the research to be published."

"But what was it?"

"Oh, it was very good, very thorough. I didn't even really have to add any research of my own, thought I did, to confirm at least some of the findings."

"I'd be skeptical too, if I just happened upon some research that said…?"

"That if purebloods only mate with purebloods, wizards and witches will decline in population. Well, it already has, of course. Then, there's the war. Well, there isn't much magical blood left, and the chances of squibs rise the 'purer' the blood is said to be."

"But that's great. I mean, terrible too, but it means that the ideological values that the last war was fought on were erroneous. It's a perfect way to end the pureblood propaganda for once and all. That's brilliant. But of course, some people wouldn't be too happy to hear this information."

"That's why Harry sent me here. The research is in Kingsley's hands, but it's got to be kept safe, and I have to be alive, when the research is presented to the Wizengamont on Saturday."

When Luna had been thoroughly exhausted by Hermione's questions, Hermione bid her to sleep in one of the guest rooms just as the sun was starting to rise. Hermione, fully awake, settled in down in the cellar to work on her own current project, of which she was finally ready to test her theory and create the potion.

The interesting thing about potions, she thought, was the myriad of possibilities that were available with each and every step. Every altercation, a simple stir, a precisely timed delay, the fineness of the chopping of an ingredient, any of these could drastically change a potion. It also scared Hermione. What worked in theory, in her calculations, would still have to be fine-tuned by experimentation. While Hermione was very good at following directions, most potion-creation required not only the practical skills, but also the intuition to fiddle with the subtlies when necessary. It thoroughly frustrated and exhausted her that there was no way she would be able to get the potion right the first time.

Later that afternoon, a package came from a large snowy owl.

Hermione thoroughly checked it for curses and the like, and finding nothing untoward, opened the small note.

_Pick you up at seven._

_DM_

The note contrasted starkly with the only other romantic date-reminder letter she had ever received. She almost preferred the concise directness evidenced here.

Then she opened the box.

She pulled out a long satin dress in a deep burgundy color. It felt divine between her fingertips.

She felt the fury rise, surging through her veins. All she saw was the red of the dress. If he thought he could imply that she Hermione Granger, lowly muggleborn, had no taste, no dress to wear that was good enough to be seen on a date with him, the _Lord _Malfoy, then he had better hope his dueling skills were up to par. It was infuriating, to be so insulted!

Just as Hermione's hands were itching to write a nasty letter (and encode it with a few curses), she caught her image in her mirror. Her face was as red as the dress; her eyes narrowed in…meaness. She forced herself to calm down. She was acting like Harry or Ron, jumping to conclusions before she had all of the facts or really thought it through.

If Malfoy had wanted to insult her, he would've sent a Slytherin green or silver dress, and perhaps in a cut that wouldn't flatter her body so much or show too much skin. And a dress to him was just an article of clothing, a trinket that didn't even register on the ledgers of the Malfoy's expenses.

She would wear it, she decided. Because truly she didn't have anything to wear since she had been cooped up all day…and oh, but maybe she should stay and keep an eye on Luna.

When she approached Luna and Harry about it however, Ginny was there in the kitchen cooking (or heating up some of her mother's cooking) and demanded point blank that Hermione try not to weasel out of a date. When Ginny was set on something, there was no hope for escape.

***

* * *

***

He apparated them to the meadow.

It was still twilight, and the first few stars would be showing up soon. He led her to the small pavilion he had set up with a nice dinner for two.

"Something wrong?" he asked. "Allergic to salmon?"

"No, I just- I'm a bit surprised is all."

He raised an eyebrow, though he knew very well what she was surprised about.

"I figured you take me to some fancy restaurant where the photographers would have a field day."

"That would be exciting, but I figured you didn't like the spotlight."

"But, you bought me this dress."

He felt a slow widening of his mouth. _Maybe I don't want anyone else to see you in it._ "Well, we wouldn't want to waste the dress, it would certainly garner you a photo in next week's issue."

"And you as well."

"Can't forget about that. But, if we're going to make a public appearance, say, for dessert, we can't just be amicably strolling around the Alley. No, if a Malfoy does anything, he is always the center of attention, and make no mistake, all eyes will be on you and I and it will be quite the entertaining story. A story meriting a featured article. And I think it will be my turn to play the damsel in distress." He felt a grin coming on. "Ready to give them a show?"

"Now, what do you mean?"

"If I told you every detail, that would spoil most of the fun."

"Now I'm not quite sure I want to go with you at all." She folded her arms across her chest.

"Ah, but I know your weakness. Curiousity," he let the word linger on his tongue. He could see it eating away at her, sharpening her sweet intakes of breath. "And I intend to make full use of your weaknesses."

"Alright then, I'm ready," she saud, rising from her seat. "I'll meet you there."

"Wait."

He rushed over and slipped his arm around hers before she could protest and whisked her away.

"That was not very gentlemanly," she scolded.

"It was very wizardly though. A wizard always apparates his witch when they are out together."

"And I won't be called your witch."

_That was certainly the right button to press_, he thought smugly. _Now, not too hasty, and calm her down on the walk over to the ice-cream parlor. We want to make sure there are witnesses._

"Then I shall offer my arm, Miss Granger, and you've no obligation to take it."

"Thank you for the offer. I am quite well on my own."

They carried on languidly. He had apparated them far down the street so that they had a better chance of picking up a photographer.

"You don't think, that it might be more interesting, to anyone passing by, if we _were_ to be arm-in-arm?"

He held out his arm again, calmly, steadily. And she took it. As soon as she looked forward, he had a difficult time suppressing the feelings of victory. He had always reveled in the small things.

A curious man gave them a strange look, then slowed his pace as he walked across the street.

Draco let her order first, mint chocolate chip and for himself he choose vanilla. He paid for it, ignoring her as she scrambled through her purse for change. He pretended not to see her add it to the tip jar.

They found a spot outside. The man who had been following them since Ollivander's was still there, perched on the stoop of the bookshop. He had a curiously bulky knapsack.

Hermione had her wand out in an instant, trained by the war.

"Jumpy, are we?" he asked with a smirk.

"Just cautious," she said, putting her wand back it it's holster even as she kept the man in eyesight.

"Yet, you're on a date with me, Draco Malfoy, a bearer of the Dark mark. How can you trust me, to apparate you several places, to get so very close to you?" He let his voice get dangerously low, his body held still like ice.

"I know you didn't have a choice with the mark, Malfoy. I know you didn't want to kill-"

"How do you know for certain? Wanting and being able to do something are quite different sides of the galleon."

"Harry was there."

"And Harry tells you everything I suppose," he sneered. "Including the night when he found me in myrtle's bathroom and nearly _killed_ me."

"Yes, he told me how you were _crying_ about being forced to do-"

"Oh, yes. So I am a geld, no longer dangerous, just a lost and lonely boy, your new pet project, your object of pity. Everyone will say how noble you are, how generous and kind, to take pity on a poor lost soul."

"Oh, you're clever though, Malfoy, such a Slytherin, you can twist any words, any situation to your advantage."

"And that's what will always drive us apart, isn't it? The discrimination of a silly Sorting Hat."

"What will always drive us apart are the years you spent tormenting me because of my blood!" She finally struck out, throwing her little plastic spoon at his face. The ice cream, mostly melted by now, splattered across his chin and dripped onto his robes.

He quickly transfigured several rocks behind her into Marshmallows, distracting her by standing up very slowly. She did the same. He summoned the lot of them, and then banished them into her mouth, stuffing it full.

In the meantime as she spit out or chewed the marshmallows, the pins from her hair began flying out and attacking him with short, sharp jabs.

"Hey!" he said. "I have delicate skin!"

"Wouldn't want to hurt your poor pureblooded porcelain skin," she taunted. She could be very vindictive. He had a feeling she was taking this a bit too seriously. Did she not remember his challenge earlier?

He transfigured a stone behind her into a large rubberduckie, and sent a tripping jinx her way. When she dodged the jinx she fell backwards over the duckie. It gave a loud, long squeak.

She summoned something from her purse, distracting him with a blasting curse first. He jumped behind the table. He wasn't sure how he was going to be able to end this before Aurors got involved.

He was face-to-face with a shiny metal object. It had two parts that opened and closed together and he wasn't sure he liked the snapping sound at all.

"What it that?" he yelled.

"A stapler. But I wouldn't suppose a pureblood like you to know anything about muggle devices."

"It _hurts_!" he yelped as the snapping part caught the webbing between his fingers.

Seriously, he had sent marshmallows and rubberduckies her way and she sends him all manner of sharp objects meant to cause pain.

"Well, you've hurt me," she said in despair.

He jumped out from his hiding spot, dodging the stampeller-thingy. He caught it with a freezing charm and it fell to the ground before them.

Even as he felt the crowd gather around them, he could only look at her, there, starkly against the night, her hair illuminated by the streetlamps in dark gold, her eyes wet and glistening.

"I'm sorry," he breathed. "I'm sorry that I hurt you. I'm sorry for all the times I followed the stupid rules of my ancestor's ideologies and called you names that should've been meaningless. Just because you were better than me and they thought you hadn't the right to be. I'm sorry that I felt forced into doing these things but didn't have the courage to stand up to my father and _him_. I'm sorry."

The crowd had come around closer, now that the fighting seemed to be over.

"I forgive you. You were doing what you thought you had to do in order to survive. You have the chance now to be your own person. And that is why I want to know you, Draco Malfoy, not because I want revenge or I feel sorry for you."

He took her hand, and did the thing he had been tempted to the first time he saw had met with her. He kissed the soft skin, barely brushing his lips against her knuckles.

"Shall we depart?" he asked in a low voice.

"Yes, I think so." She looked around at the crowd, seemingly only now noticing the whispers and glances, the flash of the bulb.

He offered his arm once more, and she took it.

They were bombarded with questions and flashbulbs as they made their way to the closest apparition point. They ran like giddy children over the cobblestone road.

When they arrived back at the meadow (he didn't quite feel like ending the night just yet), she turned around in a fury.

"Why didn't you warn me you were going to bait me like that?" she asked, cheeks flushed.

"Well, then your reactions wouldn't have been half as interesting. They say you're the smartest witch of our generation, I assumed you would've caught on a bit quicker."

"And it was all for show."

"Certain to be the object of all gossip this week. I hope its worth all these little pricks and cuts you left me." He examined his bleeding hand.

"They're not that bad," she said, coming up behind him.

"I send you delicious marshmallows and cute rubberduckies and all I get in exchange is sharp pointy objects torturing me."

"Well, you wanted it to look real. You could've warned me instead. Here, let me see your cuts," she said.

He showed her the worst of them on his delicate hands. She pulled something out from her purse (just how large was that thing?) and dabbed some dittany on his wounds.

"All better?" she asked, her face dangerously close to his. Her hair, which had fallen out of the bun when she sent the pins after him, was even closer to him, comforting him with that fresh scent. It smelled like apples, just like the orchard, after it rained.

Maybe it was the rush of adrenaline from fighting that made him feel invincible. Maybe it was the lifting of quite a bit of his guilt and worries. Maybe it was blood loss from her torturous devices. Whatever it was, it made him feel like he was on a broom again, gliding in the night air.

The evening had chilled, and he noticed the goose bumps spreading across her arms.

"Are you cold?" he asked.

"No," she said. "Maybe."

He put his arm around her, letting the fabric of his robes drape over her. "I meant my apologies though, that part wasn't just for show."

"Good, I wouldn't want to take back my offer of forgiveness."

Her lips moves softly, so flushed and so close to him. Maybe he had courage now.

"I think it's time to go home," she said.

"Not until you promise me another date. Tomorrow."

"So soon?" she furrowed her brow.

"Maybe I can't get enough of you," he whispered.

"That's not very healthy, Malfoy." She shrugged out of his embrace, took a couple steps away, turned and took one step toward him again.

"Are you trying to segue into a kiss?" he asked hopefully, leaning forward. She look startled, her eyes wide.

"Maybe another day," she said, with a bit of nervous laughter. "Goodnight." She disapparated away before he could protest.

He was left with the stars, glaring down at him like he imagined the eyes of his ancestors blazed.

***

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**A/N**: Sorry for the delay in updating, I've been sick, but still having to work. I hope you enjoy this; I was prompted by MKSFRXD's Fight Challenge in the Harry Potter Fanfiction Challenges forum here on ff. Please leave a review, I promise to reply and update quicker!


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